Nameless Drabbles
by Mbak Sanca
Summary: Drabbles on those nameless characters we always see in the background. The Army Officer, Turning Woman One, etc. T for violence and mentions of prostitution. Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables
1. Hadley: The Army Officer

**So... after deleting all my 'bad' stories, here's my first decent one!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis**

**Thanks to my best friend Jordy (anakmanga) for betaing!**

_**The Army Officer**_

"_Hey, Julian, wait up!" Hadley called to his best friend, Julian Enjolras._

_Julian Enjolras laughed. "Slowpoke, hurry up!"_

They were chasing each other again. Cat and mouse…

Hadley's dark eyes were emotionless as he fired at the barricade. A body fell off the barricade onto the students'—no, rebels' side.

The army officer refused to acknowledge the fact that they were students—young men like him. No, they were rebels.

Rebels. Nameless rebels. Strangers to him.

But Hadley has always been a truthful man.

_Hadley quietly sneaked through Julian Enjolras's kitchen. He silently took_ _cookie from his friend's cookie jar._

_The next day, Enjolras was ranting to his friends Killian Courferyac and Jaqcues Combeferre. Hadley sat on a swing nearby._

"—_my aunt made those for me, and one of them went missing!" he wailed._

_Hadley tried to swallow down his guilt. "Hey, Hadley, do you know what happened to my cookies?" Julian Enjolras asked. Hadley tried to stay quiet, but his conscience won over him._

"_I ate one!" he wailed._

Those rebels weren't nameless. They were his friends—Julian, Killian, Jacques, even little Jean Prouvaire, who had been his roommate for a year.

Hadley took a deep breath as he ordered his men to shoot up.

He heard Killian's familiar Scottish-accented voice shout out. He heard the faint 'thump' of Jean Prouvaire's little body. He hear Jacques trying to talk to Julian, before Jacques's voice was cut off by the sword of Death.

Hadley swallowed his guilt as he marched up.

Julian Enjolras was standing there, backed against a window.

Julian.

Enjolras.

Julian Enjolras.

Hadley's best friend.

His target.

Hadley didn't even notice the curly-haired man besides Julian. He trained his gun on Enjolras.

Enjolras. His enemy.

Not Julian. His friend.

As much as Hadley tried to ignore the guilt, he couldn't deny he was about to kill his best friend.

Enjolras was known for his marble façade. But Hadley had grown up with that façade. He knew how to read Julian Enjolras.

As Hadley prepared to shoot, he saw Julian's pleading eyes.

_Why_, he seemed to be asking.

Truth be told, Hadley didn't know either. He didn't know why he was training his gun on Enjolras, ready to kill his best friend. He didn't know.

He never knew.

Between the two of them, Enjolras had always been smarter. For a moment, Hadley almost put down his gun, almost declared his undying loyalty for Enjolras's cause. But even though Enjolras had always been smarter, Hadley wasn't an idiot either. He knew that joining Enjolras was practically a death wish. Though Enjolras was smarter, Hadley was wiser. He knew that Enjolras would die anyway.

Why kill himself alongside Enjolras?

There was no hope in not killing Enjolras. Hadley just hoped that Enjolras would understand.

Still, in his cold, stone-hard heart, he felt regret as he fired.

He felt mercy as Enjolras's body was pierced with eight bullets and fell out of the window.

He felt grief as he realized he had just killed all his friends.

The Inspector wasn't the only one to commit suicide thanks to the barricade. "Go," Hadley ordered his men.

After his men had left, Hadley pulled Enjolras's body back into the café. The officer went to some remaining drawers and dug around until he found some papers and a pen. With a heart-wrenching start, Hadley recognized Enjolras's handwriting on some.

'_The monarchy colonizes us. Human beings are all born equal—we are neither good nor evil. Vive la France! The poor—'_

Hadley stopped reading. It was just too painful, remembering his friend. He took one of the empty pages and wrote on it.

_'Hadley Lumeire and Julian Enjolras. Best friends. Born equal—dead equal.'_

Hadley placed the note on the ground besides Enjolras. Gulping, Hadley cut across one of Enjolras's gun wounds. Blood poured out. He was faced with blood and guts, and all other icky human organs that he didn't want to describe.

Gritting his teeth, the brunet plunged his hand in. Immediately, Hadley wanted to throw up. He could feel guts and blood surrounding his fingers. Hadley desperately poked around. He could feel Enjolras's stomach and intestines. Hadley's fingers poked into a hole in Enjolras's stomach. Half-digested food, coated in blood, surrounded Hadley's fingers.

His fingers closed around one of the bullets. Triumphant, Hadley pulled it out. It was covered in blood and half-digested food. Hadley didn't care.

Hadley unloaded his gun—the same one he had used to kill Enjolras and his friends—and put in the bloody bullet. Standing besides Enjolras, Hadley shot himself through the heart.

He dropped dead besides his friend.

**I just found out she thought Hadley killed Enjolras because he was guilty that he stole Enjolras's cookies...**


	2. Adele: The Head Whore

_**The Head Whore**_

**The second chapter! You people are so cruel-the next chapter will be uploaded with the next review.**

**Thanks to anakmanga for betaing!**

This had never been Adele's first choice of career.

Ever since she was little, she had wanted to be a seamstress.

Adele had taught herself various ways to sew. Ever since she was little, her old clothes would turn into beautiful dresses.

She stared at herself in the mirror, eyes blank. There had been a time when her face was full, her curly blonde hair rich, and her blue eyes vibrant.

Now, her face was thin, and caked with ugly makeup that men seemed to love. Her curly blonde hair was limp and dirty. Her blue eyes were hollow and lifeless.

Beautiful, her former lover had called her. Whore, he called her now. He had abandoned her because she was weak. He scorned her because she slept with strangers.

One of the other prostitutes—Fantine, Adele 's roommate—walked into their shared room in their apartment. Fantine's own ghostly, haunted eyes were visible to Adele as she stood behind her.

They could see each other's reflections in the mirror. Adele, the head whore. Fantine, the young whore. Both blonde. Both abandoned. Both desperate.

"He loved me," Fantine whispered. Adele knew that she was talking about her former lover, Felix Tholymes.

He loved me too, Adele wanted to say. What Fantine didn't know was that she and Adele shared a lover.

"He loved me," Adele murmured. "But he abandoned me."

Fantine's eyes were blank.

Then she turned around and slowly made her way to her bed.

Adele didn't move.

Finally, she shuffled weakly out of her room. The apartment wasn't far from the docks. In the moonlight, Adele found her way to the brothel. She caught the pimp's eye as she arrived. "You may have the blonde over there, monsieur. She's quite the pleasure. I've had her a few times myself," the pimp purred smoothly to a tall customer. Adele bristled slightly at being talked about like some sort of livestock.

Admittedly, the description blonde was a bit too generic. The brothel was full of blonde women. But the man seemed to figure out which one Adele was. He kissed her and pushed her into a room.

* * *

"Five francs, monsieur," Adele murmured. The man threw her ten francs instead. He looked rather guilty.

Huh. Figures. Another married customer.

Adele eagerly picked up the money. She cleaned herself with a cloth, before putting on her clothes and exiting the room. She threw her ten francs at the pimp and returned to her post in front of a room.

The pimp raised an eyebrow. "What did you do to earn twice the price?" he questioned. Adele ignored him.

"Answer me, whore," the dark-haired man snarled. Adele remained quiet. The pimp marched towards her. "If you'll be so disobedient, then I'll force you to tell me," he snarled. There was lust in his eyes. Adele had no time to scream as she was pushed into the room.

The rest of the brothel could hear her screams as the pimp tortured her.


	3. Emanuelle: Turning Woman One

**Character: Turning Woman 1**

She had been among the last to join the singing. It wasn't that she didn't want a better life—oh, Emmanuelle longed for a life outside of the factory. But she couldn't.

Emmanuelle was a smart woman. She had never gone to school, but she was smart enough to know that these schoolboys were doomed.

But there wasn't any harm in giving them a bit of hope before they died. Emmanuelle wished that their cause would triumph, but she wasn't a fool. She knew from the very beginning they would die.

She had never supported the cause. But from the moment she found out her husband supported the cause—he had sent twenty guns to help those schoolboys—Emmanuelle had outright _hated_ the cause. She knew her husband would go and fight with the schoolboys. She knew her husband would _die._

Still, they were only children. So she sang along, tried to give them hope.

"Beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see? Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!" Emmanuelle wondered whether it was a sin to sing and preach about something she didn't believe in. She supposed so—after all, it was, in a way, lying.

Emmanuelle wasn't a liar. She had never told a lie. So she stopped singing.

But still, those schoolboys… they gave her hope. It was nice to know that some people cared for the poor, even though climbing General Lamarque's death carriage wasn't exactly how she imagined it.

The blonde found her husband as he ran to help with the barricades. "Be careful. For Jacques and Jacqueline," Emmanuelle whispered. He gave her a simple, unreadable look before running to help the revolutionary leader. Emmanuelle sighed and stepped back.

"I love you, Alexis," Emmanuelle whispered, blue eyes pained.

* * *

Alexis came back alive. "What happened? Did you win?" Emmanuelle

asked frantically, ushering him into the apartment. Alexis shook his head. "No. Enjolras sent the fathers of children and mothers home," he explained.

Emmanuelle silently thanked this Enjolras. "Thank God you're alive!"

Emmanuelle gasped. "But," Alexis continued. Emmanuelle froze. "All the students… they're dead, Em. And the police are calling all the women living around here to clean the blood."

* * *

"Did you see them, going off to fight?" Emmanuelle whispered. "Children of the barricade who didn't last the night?"

Nadine smiled sadly. "Did you see them, lying where they died? Someone used to cradle them, and kiss them when the cried." Emmanuelle sighed sadly. Oh, those schoolboys!

"Did you see them lying side by side?" Victoire exclaimed as she crouched down besides them, slamming her bucket onto the ground. Water gushed out. "Who will wake them?" a woman sighed. "No one ever will!" another woman snorted, scrubbing furiously.

"No one ever told them that a summer day can kill," Nadine sighed. Didn't

they know how _dangerous _that had been?

"They were schoolboys, never held a gun!" Antoinette exclaimed, slamming down her bucket. Water spilled out of it as she scrubbed furiously. "Fighting for a new world that would rise up like the sun!" She lifted her cloth dramatically. Admittedly, she had a reason to be angry. Her brother, son and husband had been killed at the barricades.

"Where's the new world now the fighting's done?" Victoire sighed. "Nothing changes," one of the women sighed. "Nothing ever will!" Antoinette exclaimed. Emmanuelle watched quietly. "Every year another brat, another mouth to fill," she sighed. Antoinette heard her.

"Same old story! What's the use of tears? What's the use of praying if

there's nobody who hears?" Antoinette exclaimed.

"Turning, turning, turning, turning, turning through the years…" the women sighed together.

As though they could hear each other think, they suddenly began singing the same song angrily, grief lacing their tone. "Turning, turning, turning throught the years! Minutes into hours and the ours into years!" Emmanuelle wiped away a tear.

"Nothing changes, nothing ever can! Round about the roundabout and back where you began!" For the first time, Emmanuelle felt angry with no good reason. Those schoolboys had killed many, all for a lost cause. And now? They were still poor, hopeless again. "Round and round and _back where you began!" _


End file.
